


Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

by priscilladm



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flame Alchemy, Pre-Canon, Royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priscilladm/pseuds/priscilladm
Summary: After the horrors of the war in Ishval, Riza Hawkeye enlists the help of Roy Mustang to rid herself of all the pain her father created. This includes the only place she’s ever known to be home.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to the song "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" by John Mayer and realized the song is so representative of Royai. There's the obvious mention of burning and flame alchemy, but also, the lyrics indicate trying in vain to make something work when the world around them is falling apart. It's not a requirement to know the song or its lyrics, but it was really interesting to listen to it on repeat as I wrote this.

At first, Riza only wanted to destroy the secrets of flame alchemy burnt onto her back.

She asked Roy while they were still in Ishval, and he hesitantly agreed because of his own role in the extermination. But once the Amestrian military began its journey home, she realized she needed to destroy every single remnant of her father’s madness. It was for that reason she also asked him to burn down the house of her childhood.

To avoid detection and take advantage of their time off, they arrived on a Saturday, so early in the morning that the sun barely began to peek out from the horizon. The entire town was quiet. No businesses were open, no people roamed the streets, and not even the birds made a sound. As they approached the house, it looked almost identical to how they remembered, with the exception of overgrown grass and weeds on the front lawn.

“If it’s alright with you, sir, I’d like to stand in the house and watch it all burn, as long as possible,” she said simply, opening the front door.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll allow you that, but you have to trust me when I tell you we need to leave. We can only stay for so long.”

They agreed that they would do small bursts of fire throughout the bottom floor of the house, starting from the innermost parts and working their way out. This was the most reasonable and safe way for Riza to witness the house’s destruction.

“I’m going to light the fireplace first,” Roy stated as he crossed the threshold. “I’m not going to set things on fire yet. I’ll admit that I’d like to look at things one last time, too.”

He walked past the kitchen and dining room into the living room. With a snap of his finger, the fireplace was filled with contained flames that warmed the house safely. She closed the door behind them but took care not to lock it, knowing that they would need to be able to make a quick escape given their task.

She sat on the couch and absorbed the finality of her decision. She looked at the mantelpiece, with one lone photograph: her family of three, with her mother still in good health and her father still with laughter in his soul. Berthold looked vivacious and full of life, with a clean-shaven face and closely cropped hair that looked just like hers. Her mother shared none of her facial features, save for her unmistakable amber eyes.

He noticed her eyeing the photograph and examined it carefully. “Do you want to take that?”

She shook her head forcefully. “After all we’ve been through, I’ve never been more sure. I have to leave this all behind.”

He sighed. “I wish life had been kinder to you,” he responded.

“I have one final request, before we do this,” she asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of the flames of the fireplace. “I’d like to dance.”

His gaze met hers, his dark eyes filled with sympathy and uncertainty. “But my hands have only caused pain and suffering."

She gave him the same smile she always wore in Ishval: joy on her lips but melancholy in her eyes. “That’s not true. Please,” she pleaded.

He nodded and began to walk towards her, but she waved him away as she stood up and met him where he was.

“Will you set this room on fire while we dance?” she asked.

“Yes.” Roy looked away, discomfort washing over his face as he prepared to touch her for the very first time.

He motioned to place his right hand on her shoulder and left hand high on her hip, but she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck. She stepped closer to him and leaned the warmth of her body against his, with the crown of her head against the top of his shoulder. His scent would have been unusual to anyone else, but to her, it was tremendously familiar and oddly comforting. The aftershave of his neck smelled earthy, like the grass outside of this house. Still, the scent was also laced with traces of ash, an aftermath of all the burning he did. Ever since the Ishvalan extermination, he carried it on him at all times, as if the scent was tattooed onto his skin the same way the teachings were on hers.

For a moment she sensed his uncertainty, unsure where to place his hands even as she was pressed against him so closely. She knew how much he respected her, not just as the daughter of his teacher but also as an old friend and trustworthy soldier.

“It’s alright,” she said softly.

She felt his hands settle gently on her hips and they stood together in this room, just the two of them, basking in the warmth of the fireplace and each other’s bodies. They had seen each other’s bodies so much over the years: they both grew taller right before each other’s eyes, their voices evolved, their haircuts changed. But in the same vein, they had never even shaken hands, let alone held each other in embrace. This was a different way of knowing someone’s body: simultaneously very intimate in its proximity but also deeply impersonal.

“Hawkeye?” he whispered in her ear.

Her neck shivered as his breath made contact with her, dancing along her skin. She knew that this was simply a side effect of how close they were to each other, rather than an invitation or suggestion from him, but it still felt so good to finally be close to someone. She couldn’t remember the last time her father embraced her, and she all but forgot how it felt when her mother held her close.

She felt simultaneously burning hot and shivering cold, heat developing in her belly and tears gathering in her eyes. She didn’t know what to make of this—she didn’t cry when her father died, or even at his funeral.

“Sir?” she responded, choking back the tears which gathered in her throat but still refused to leave her body.

“I need to know if I can set this room on fire for you.”

"Yes,” she said, knowing that there was no turning back.

She felt him lift his right hand from her waist and heard his fingers snap, and all at once the room began to rapidly increase in temperature. She looked up to peek behind his shoulder and saw the smoke develop into small flames. Her ears adjusted to the sound of the crackling erupting throughout the house—a crackling far different than the contained flame inside the fireplace. The scent of ash began to penetrate the air as it wafted through her nostrils, overpowering the scent of his clothes pressed against her skin.

“We have approximately 90 seconds before this room becomes dangerous,” he warned, his tone laced with concern for both her safety and the stability of her emotions.

She sniffled. “Alright.” She allowed herself a moment to sob softly, the tears dampening his shirt. Her trembling surprised him, so much so that he drew her in even closer and held onto her a little more tightly. She responded in kind, clutching his neck more; she feared she might choke him, but all she knew was she couldn’t let him go—not right now. She had already lost too much and done too much. All she needed was this moment.

It was Roy who broke away first, albeit cautiously and incrementally. He broke contact with her body and looked into her bright amber eyes, his hands still on her waist and her arms still linked around his neck. “We need to get out of this room. We only have a few more moments before this is no longer safe.”

She heard the glass of the picture frame on the mantelpiece crack, and she knew that this was the moment they needed to leave. She didn’t know much about alchemy, but she knew science, and cracked glass meant the temperature of the environment was rising far too quickly to ensure their safety.

Riza took a large gulp, hoping it would help stop the tears and the heaving sounds from her throat. She withdrew her arms from Roy and hastily wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, quickly regaining her composure. “Yes.”

“You go ahead,” he said, a slight sense of urgency rising in his voice.

What he really meant, what she really heard: _if only one of us makes it out of here, it has to be you_.

“We’ll go together,” she responded coolly.

What she really meant: _the only way we leave is together_.

Still, she heeded his warning and walked in front of him. She outstretched her hand for him to walk right behind her as she pulled him out of the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. She saw the couch disintegrate quickly into ashes and suddenly realized she didn’t have the fortitude to watch the rest of the house burn.

“Sir?” she asked, the flames flashing in the reflection of her still-watery eyes. “Are the flames in that room… strong enough to burn everything down by themselves? Or do we have to set the rest of the house on fire still?”

He took the lead and pulled her to the front door. “If you don’t want to see the rest of the house, this flame is enough.”

She ran out of the house and onto the front lawn before collapsing to her knees on the grass and wailing. The adrenaline coursed through her veins as she recalled all the memories of this cursed house. Both her parents died in this house, and it was the place where her father branded her as nothing better than a walking textbook. For many years, she fantasized about what it would be like to leave this small town and live her own life, no longer bound by the secrets of flame alchemy.

Now here she was, back on this plot of land, the secrets on her back burnt off and the house about to be destroyed too. After all the pain she experienced and witnessed in her life because of flame alchemy, the least she deserved was for that power to break down the things that hurt her.

But even though this day would be marked by the destruction of the last remnants of her father’s madness, all she really wanted to remember from that day was slow dancing in a burning room.


End file.
